The Battle of Gorm
by PAITKEN15
Summary: A narrative of the events surrounding the Battle of Gorm, a costly fight for the Eldar of craftworld Xerim.
1. Prepare for War

Ulsan Starborn meditated. Though his eyes were closed, he felt the swirling, chaotic orbit of the runes around his body. He sat with his legs crossed, probing the present as well as the unlimited possible futures. As Farseer of Xerim, this was his duty. He felt a chill. Orwen Forgeblade, Xerim's Autarch, entered the chamber; Ulsan simply knew. Orwen noticed Ulsan's meditations and turned around to leave. "No, Orwen," said Ulsan. "You may stay. I will be but a moment longer." He raised a hand, fingers bent slightly in order to grasp one of the runes at the right moment. Two were about to collide. Ulsan quickly plucked one from its path, causing the others to fall. He opened his eyes and looked at the rune he had chosen.

"What does it mean?" asked Orwen.

Ulsan scowled at the rune. "I am not entirely sure, old friend, but I saw fallen human Astartes belonging to Slaanesh… a planet called Gorm… and Iyanden besieged."

"Iyanden is under attack?"

"No… it… _will_ be." Ulsan put a hand to his head. "I am… unsure of how soon." He stood up. "I must gather the Seer Council."

Orwen nodded. "Shall I call the Exarchs?"

"Not yet, Orwen. The Council and I will deliberate on this matter. Perhaps my fears are unfounded."

"Very well, Ulsan. I believe I shall try to find my daughter. No doubt she is with that Iyegar boy." They walked out of the room together. "I hear Ysalia also shows affection toward Iyegar's friend, your apprentice."

Ulsan's apprentice. Orwen referred to Anchros Stormsinger, one of Xerim's Warlocks. Anchros had been under Ulsan's personal tutelage for some time. "Many a young Eldar is enamored with her, and she, in turn, is enamored with them. After all, she is called the Jewel of Xerim on the other craftworlds."

"Indeed, but none of her suitors are as favored as Remil Iyegar or the Stormsinger." Orwen shook his head. "The girl has always been indecisive and flirtatious." He looked at his feet. "Ulsan… was I a bad parent? Did I raise Ysalia and Freyan incorrectly?"

"You are asking the wrong friend, Orwen. I am not a father. However, I do know that your son's wanderlust was not your fault, nor is Ysalia's inclination to bat her eyes at every male who appreciates her beauty."

Orwen smiled. "Thank you, friend, for putting my mind at ease. But you should set to calling the Council. Do you have a message you would like me to give to Anchros, should I see him?"

Ulsan rubbed his forehead. "Yes. Please tell him I request his company in the Dome of Crystal Seers at his earliest convenience."

"I shall relay it. Farewell, Ulsan." Orwen strode in the direction of his home.

Ulsan made his way to the Dome of Crystal Seers, where the bodies of Xerim's Warlocks and Farseers became one with the craftworld. Once there, he used a spell to send a summons to each of the seven other members of the Seer Council. He felt another chill. The Farseer had not told Orwen everything he had seen, for the Autarch could not know.

Yet the fact remained: Ulsan Starborn had seen a vision of his own death, as well as that of his dear friend Orwen Forgeblade.

Anchros Stormsinger stood before a glowing rune, focusing the Warp's energies into it. It glowed more fiercely with each passing moment. He reached out to touch it and release its power in a storm of psychic force. As his fingers closed around the rune, it became scalding hot and he knew he had to stop before the rune was destroyed. He let go quickly, and the rune fell. Anchros clutched his wrist, frowning at the rune. Master Starborn had created it and given it to him, insisting that he would get better with practice. That had been several weeks ago, and Anchros had spent countless hours attempting to master it to no avail. The rune worried Anchros, for when he used it, he felt as though he were stealing a part of the Warp itself. There was a knock on the door of his bedroom. "Anchros?"

The voice belonged to Remil Iyegar, who had been his closest friend since they were both Striking Scorpions. Since then, Remil had walked the path of the Fire Dragon and Warp Spider Aspects, and Anchros now trod the Path of the Seer. "Come in, Remil."

Remil entered. "Have you been practicing with the rune?"

"Yes, but it still eludes my mastery."

"Well, what say you to taking a rest? You cannot keep opening your mind to the Warp in such a manner."

Anchros sighed. "I suppose so." They walked out into the craftworld proper and set down a road.

"Do you have anywhere in particular you would like to go?" asked Remil.

"No," Anchros lied. He wanted to meditate, perhaps in the Dome of Crystal Seers. For some reason, being near the Founder's body put him at ease. But Remil would simply try to pull him away from there, as well. "Does that mean we're going to go see the Autarch's daughter?"

Remil smiled with mischief in his eyes. "But of course."

Ysalia Forgeblade was beautiful but too open with her affections in Anchros' opinion. Remil was quite taken with her, but Anchros was concerned with more important things than mating. He was a Warlock of Xerim, one of the craftworld's most respected warriors, not to mention Farseer Starborn's personal student. The Farseer had sensed potential in Anchros, and he wasn't going to disappoint his teacher any time in the near future. "In that case, I believe I will return to my work, Remil."

"Oh, come, Anchros, you cannot remain a student every moment of the rest of your life. Trust me; one day away from your training regimen will do wonders for you. Freyan recently told me an ancient human proverb he heard as an Outcast: all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, my friend, that although work ethic is invaluable, recreation is just as important."

Anchros had to concede that it was a good point. "Very well. Let us visit Ysalia."

Remil led the way, and Anchros followed. When they were within sight of her residence, they saw her outside. "There she is, Anchros. The Jewel of Xerim."

Ysalia Forgeblade had pale skin and fair hair like silk. Her limbs were slender, even by Eldar standards. She always moved with unprecedented grace. Her face brightened upon seeing Anchros and Remil, and she beckoned to them. "Remil! And is that Anchros Stormsinger?"

"Yes, Ysalia, it is I. I have taken a rest from my studies."

"And you decided to come see me? How wonderful!"

"He may be here, Ysalia, but it was only at my urging." Remil smiled at Anchros.

"Regardless, that you are here at all is nothing short of wondrous." She sat on a low ledge and invited them to do the same, which they did; one on each side of her. "What have your studies entailed?"

Anchros gazed into the distance, trying to find words to describe the spell Farseer Starborn had asked him to practice. "I am not entirely sure. Master Starborn never told me what the rune did, and he created it, so I cannot consult any of the craftworld's archives. But it feels like… like I am taking a raw piece of the Warp and unleashing it. No, not simply taking it… it is more akin to removing it forcibly and causing it to distort material space like a spear cutting through the air…"

Ysalia's face immediately shifted to concern. She instinctively seized Remil's hand. "Anchros, isn't that dangerous?"

The normally light-hearted Remil sobered. "I had no idea just how much you were opening your mind to the Warp. Are you sure this is safe?"

Anchros raised his hands defensively. "You do not need to worry. The Farseer would not have given me the rune if he believed I would be in danger. And the rune _prevents_ such a thing from happening."

"And yet, Anchros," said Remil, "it still alerts the Great Enemy, does it not?"

"I do not fear She Who Thirsts, Remil."

A new voice approached from behind them. "That is a good attitude, Anchros. Your mentor would approve."

The three young Eldar turned to greet the visitor. It was Orwen Forgeblade, Autarch of Xerim and Ysalia's father. With him was Freyan Forgeblade, Ysalia's younger brother and one of Xerim's Rangers; he had only recently returned to the craftworld. "If you hold no fear for Slaanesh, then it cannot hurt you." Orwen sat down next to Anchros. "Fear nothing. Then nothing has power over you."

"It's true. This knowledge emboldened me through countless tribulations." Freyan took a seat to Remil's left.

"Wise advice," noted Remil.

Anchros nodded. "Thank you, Autarch."

"Use it well. The Farseer would like to see you in the Dome of Crystal Seers as soon as possible."

Inwardly, Anchros was relieved. He hadn't wanted to leave his work, and even if he had then he would not have come to see Ysalia. "Then I shall go." He stood. "Farewell, Remil, Freyan, Ysalia." He turned to Orwen and bowed. "Farewell, Autarch Forgeblade. Xerim survives."

"Xerim survives," echoed the commander.

"I cannot deny what I have seen," the Farseer said to his Council.

"This is folly, Farseer. Iyanden is well-protected."

"And yet the Tyranids almost destroyed it. Had Yriel not doomed himself by taking the Spear of Twilight – "

"We do not know for sure that it is only because of Yriel that they survived the attack, Fereth."

Ulsan allowed the debate to continue for a time. Finally, he raised his hands for silence. "Enough." His voice was of normal volume but his tone was imperious. "All those in favor of assembling a host to Gorm, come and stand next to me." Three of the Seers moved. Two of those remaining were hesitant. However, Ulsan knew one would break the tie. Sure enough, Haro Jantar joined the Farseer. "It is decided. Make preparations. I have business to which I must attend." The Council was leaving as Anchros Stormsinger entered.

"You wished to see me, Master?"

"Yes, Anchros." Ulsan smiled to put him at ease. "We have matters we need to discuss."

"Is it about the rune you gave me, Master?" They began walking toward the center of the Dome, where the Founder's body stood erect with his witchblade in the ground.

"Not specifically, but since you have mentioned it, how goes your practice with it?"

Anchros rubbed the back of his head, slightly embarrassed. "It could be better. I'm still unsure of what the spell is supposed to do."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"It feels like I'm ripping out a piece of Warp space and making it cut through real space like a spear."

Ulsan smiled again. Anchros was a prodigy the likes of which he had not seen in centuries. "You have the right of it."

"Do you have a name for it?" Anchros sounded a bit worried about how safe the spell was.

"I can assure you that you are in no danger as long as you are using the rune. To answer your question, I call it Asuryan's Retribution."

"Asuryan was killed long ago, Master."

"Yes, by Slaanesh. However, he lives on through his children, the Eldar. And by taking a piece of the Warp, the source of Slaanesh, it is an indirect way of fighting her, depriving her of power… therefore, it is named for the father god, slain so many ages ago."

They had reached the Founder. Anchros studied the body of the long-forgotten first Farseer. "Master?"

"Hm?"

"When you're in battle… you have a spirit stone that belonged to every other Farseer before you, don't you?"

"Yes, Anchros. They guide me, and at times I lose myself in their collected minds."

Anchros remained silent for a time. "Then do you know the Founder's name?"

"Yes." Ulsan answered without hesitation. He had nothing to gain from lying.

"Why do you not record it?"

"He prefers it this way."

"Why?"

"Who can say? Perhaps, in time, you will know him."

"I am a long way from becoming Farseer, Master."

Ulsan looked at his protégé. "Perhaps. But, Anchros, I need you to listen to me now. We… we must prepare for battle. Xerim must take arms."

"What? Against whom?"

Ulsan placed a hand to his head. "Human Astartes, fallen from their Emperor. They belong to Slaanesh and… plan… to attack Iyanden… are… attacking Iyanden…" Ulsan staggered and fell to one knee.

"Master!" Anchros helped Ulsan to his feet.

"My apologies, Anchros. I… I have seen something troubling. Something unfortunate will happen in the battle against these Astartes, but… I will need you to carry on. There is nothing you can do to prevent it."

"I… don't understand."

"You will. Some events are fixed in time… solid realities that must come to pass. So you must learn to accept these things."

"Thank you, Master, for your wisdom. Will that be all?"

Ulsan stood up straight. "Yes, Anchros. Now make ready. We must leave soon."

"Xerim survives," said Anchros with a bow.

"Xerim survives." Ulsan watched him leave. He would understand in time. But for now…

Ulsan traced an arcane symbol in the air. This would allow him to speak to the entire craftworld.

"Xerim," he began. "This is Ulsan Starborn, your Farseer. Prepare for battle. Assemble the entire host and wake the Avatar. We will need everything."


	2. Today You Shall Die

Remil had finished putting on his Warp Spider Aspect armor, resplendent in the orange and blue of the craftworld. He had a companion aid him with his Warp jump generator and made his way to the altar to await the Exarch before placing his helmet on his head. None of the warriors would be in the state of mind for battle until the Exarch began the ceremony. Farseer Starborn had ordered the entire host assembled, including the Wraithlord and, to the shock of Xerim, the Avatar of Khaine, two of the most powerful weapons at the disposal of the Eldar.

The Wraithlord was a massive suit of armor brought to life by the spirit stone of one of the craftworld's greatest warriors. It was truly fearsome to behold in combat; Remil had only seen it on the battlefield once, but it had annihilated the opposing forces with its heavy weapons and wraithsword.

The Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Eldar god of war and bloodshed, was even more intimidating than the Wraithlord. The Bloody-Handed God was split into fragments by the Great Enemy. These fragments became embedded in the core of each craftworld, and they grew into the Avatars. The Avatar burned with the colors of molten metal. Its terrible sword pulsated with power, the glowing runes upon it twisting and writhing from the sheer might of Khaine the Bloody-Handed. Again, there had only been one occasion upon which Remil had seen an Avatar in battle, but he had never seen the Wraithlord and the Avatar in the same fight. If the Farseer had called for them both, then Remil feared what was to come.

He feared not only for himself, but for those close to him. There was always the chance of death, especially for Warp Spiders, but it had never felt more real to Remil. Would Anchros survive? Would he attempt to use the spell the Farseer taught him without taking precaution and lose himself to the Warp in the process? What of Ysalia? She was a Howling Banshee, true, and a fierce warrior, but still Remil found himself concerned for her safety. Was he in love with Ysalia? It certainly seemed so. Did she love him? Earlier, they'd reached for each other's hands when Anchros informed them of his newest power…

Autarch Forgeblade strode into the room with his helmet cradled under his right arm. His chainsword lie in its sheath. The Dark Reaper launcher he brought into battle was in his left hand. Remil and his comrades immediately stood as straight as their burdens would allow and looked at their commander. The Autarch motioned with his launcher, shaking his head. "Be at ease, Warp Spiders. Your Exarchs are busy preparing the Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine. _I _will lead you in the battle ritual and shall be fighting alongside you."

"An honor which we would bear proudly, Autarch," said one of the assembled warriors. Remil agreed. To fight by the side of the Autarch was indeed an honor; one of the highest Remil could imagine.

Autarch Forgeblade stood at the head of the circle of white pillars. He closed his eyes and began the first lines of the Hymn of Khaine. The other Warp Spiders joined him, activating the delicate systems of their ritual armor. For centuries, Xerim's Aspect Warrior armor had eschewed the traditional colors of the Aspect in favor of the craftworld's orange, blue, and white. There was a degree of personalization within the ranks of Xerim's Warp Spiders – they each had a unique helmet sigil of blood red. Remil's was a single vertical line over the helmet's right eye. He prepared the death spinner with the familiarity he would show a good friend. He knew its every contour and function; he was versed in all manner of ways in which to wield the deadly weapon.

As the words of the Hymn of Khaine echoed in his head, amplified by the multitude of voices, empowered by the presence of the Autarch, he felt something awaken within him. It was the battlelust, the thing he knew drove every Eldar in battle. But something felt different about this time. The battlelust was stronger than ever before, and his mind began to open to the tactics of other Aspects. It was a faint feeling, an urging to employ the silent approach of the Striking Scorpions, or the beautiful wanton destruction of the Fire Dragons. As suddenly as they had arrived, the feelings were gone. Remil had no time to deliberate before he donned his helmet and the battlelust overtook him completely. Anchros was forgotten, self-preservation held no power, and Ysalia left him.

He felt a desire to kill. He needed to spill the blood of the enemy in the name of Kaela Mensha Khaine… and in the name of Xerim.

Freyan Forgeblade disassembled and reassembled his long rifle. Its inner workings were as intimate to him as the bodies of any of his lovers. And he had loved a great many while away from Xerim.

He hadn't wanted to leave his father and his sister, but he felt a calling to escape. Some of his friends had accompanied him as Eldar Outcasts. They all knew they would return to their home eventually. It had simply been a question of when. He was no longer sure of how long it had been since that day when his father, the Autarch, had refused to speak to him. That night when his older sister, the Jewel of Xerim, had cried silent tears as she embraced him and begged him to stay. It was difficult for Freyan to refuse her. When he did, she asked that he at least live long enough to come back. He promised that he would. Ysalia kissed his forehead, and he walked away without looking back. Her good-bye was almost inaudible, but he heard it. She began sobbing. He still did not look back.

His band's first voyage had been to one of the Exodite worlds. Its name escaped him. Its denizens had seen many craftworlders before, and they held no love for their kind. Then they learned they were Outcasts. The Exodites of that planet had given them every hospitality from that point forward. It was there that he first bedded a woman. It was there that he and his Outcast brothers had made their first kill of a wild beast. Freyan's lover told him she had become heavy with child. He felt no remorse when he knew he could never see her again. The wanderlust still clutched his mind. If he left, he and his brothers would never be welcome on that world again. That suited them, and the next morning they had the good fortune to meet a troupe of Harlequins on their way to Altansar. Later, Freyan received news that the Imperium of Man had attacked the world. Xerim rushed to its aid.

They were welcomed. The Altansarans did not judge Freyan and his brothers and did not persuade them to return to the Eldar Path. It was there that he had stolen his long rifle, the only individual to have warmed his bed more than once on his travels. Altansar had many fine women, but none satisfied him as much as the thrill of infiltrating the bonesingers' quarters under cover of night and taking the never-before-used long rifle. Freyan awoke his brothers in order to make a hasty departure.

Freyan once disguised himself as a human. He had entered a notoriously anti-nonhuman tavern on a human colony world to obtain information. He covered his ears to be round like a man's, and he deepened his voice. One of the humans suspected him of being a "xeno," as they call those who are not of their kind. Freyan discretely administered a fast-acting poison to his drink. By the time he had keeled over and died, Freyan was already lost within the crowds of the city without his disguise. The local law enforcement would be looking for a tall, thin human, not a young Eldar Outcast. The blame was placed on a man who had failed to dispose of his waste in the proper manner. He was executed.

When Freyan returned to Xerim and the Eldar Path, he was given the title of Ranger. His father, despite the terms on which they had left each other, celebrated Xerim's new Rangers. It felt good to be home.

Now he had to defend this home. He had seen the worshippers of Chaos before: the disciples of Khorne, Tzeentch, Nurgle, and the Great Enemy herself. Those of Slaanesh were by far the worst.

Freyan disassembled his long rifle once more and put it back together in moments. Before the day's end, it would know the deaths of many humans.

"Anchros." Farseer Starborn beckoned his student to his side.

Anchros had finished putting on his traditional orange robe and blue rune armor. Like all Eldar warriors, he would not don his helmet until they had sung the Hymn of Khaine. The Farseer activated his dual witchblades to ensure they functioned properly. They glowed with a supernatural purple light, powered by the mind of their wielder. Farseer Starborn deactivated his weapons and placed them in his belt. "What have you seen of the battle, Master?"

Master Starborn looked away briefly. "We will emerge victorious." His voice held something more behind it. "That is all that matters. Xerim prevails. Iyanden will never know. The Chaos incursion will fall." He looked at Anchros again, stroking his graying beard. "Do you have the rune for Asuryan's Retribution?"

"Yes," replied Anchros. He opened one of the pouches on his belt and withdrew the shaped wraithbone. "I wasn't sure if it was prudent to use it during the battle."

The Farseer reached out to take the rune and inspected it. "That was a concern of mine. But I have given thought to it." He hesitated. "It is not of utmost importance that you use Asuryan's Retribution on Gorm, but if you are willing to make a small sacrifice, then you may be able to cast it with your limited mastery."

"Sacrifice?" Anchros was puzzled. "What sort of sacrifice?"

"I have found a way to fuse the rune directly into your body. It will give you greater mastery over the ability, but exceeding your limits will be much more dangerous than having a separate rune…"

"Because the energies of the Warp will be channeled directly through my body?"

Master Starborn looked Anchros in the eye. "Yes."

Anchros weighed this choice. This wasn't something he could decide upon lightly. Asuryan's Retribution was dangerous to use even with the rune. And although he would, for all intents and purposes, still have the rune, it would be a part of his body, which would open his mind to the Warp even further. On the other hand, he could use Asuryan's Retribution to protect Xerim. If he lost himself to Slaanesh and the Warp in service to the craftworld, then so be it. "I will do it, Master," he said with conviction.

"Very well," replied his teacher. "There may be pain, but I assure you that, like all things, it will be temporary." Farseer Starborn closed his eyes and placed a hand on Anchros' head. The rune began to glow. Anchros closed his own eyes. He felt the searing heat of the rune pressing against his face. The pain built up until he could take no more, and the burning sensation sank directly into his flesh. Anchros did not scream, but when the pain was gone he fell to his knees, out of breath and light-headed.

He could still feel the heat of the rune and clutched at the area where Master Starborn had held the icon. Part of his skin felt different from the rest. He looked at the reflection in the white faceplate of his helmet. The place where wraithbone met flesh now featured a scar of deep scarlet in the shape of the rune. The Farseer helped his student to his feet. "I apologize for the unexpected side effect of the process."

"No, Master. I shall wear it proudly. It will remind me that Xerim is more important than my personal appearance."

Anchros' teacher smiled. "You are like the son I never had, Anchros."

He returned the smile. "Thank you, Master."

"Come," said the Farseer. "Let us prepare for battle."

The Autarch and the Farseer stood at the gate to the webway. The Autarch, carrying his devastating Reaper launcher, paced before the assembled warhost.

"Xerim! It is not often we assemble the entire host. A vast majority of you have never seen it in full. But for today's battle, Farseer Starborn has seen a large and ferocious army of humans who worship Slaanesh. Many of you know of the Astartes but have not faced them in battle, and an even smaller number of those here have fought those lost to the gods of Chaos. Know this: your enemy this day knows no fear. He feels no hesitation. He does not fear death, because he knows the Great Enemy will revive him eventually. He _enjoys_ pain. He derives sick pleasure from it. The Farseer has also seen victory in our favor. Reserve your revelry, for he also tells me we will need to pay a terrible price. But our losses will remain to a minimum if we follow my plan. Heed me, your Autarch, and Xerim will live to fight another day.

"The Wraithlord will provide heavy support throughout this campaign. It will weaken our opponents while the Striking Scorpions flank them. They will wait until the full attention of the Chaos army is on the front line, and then push in from all sides. Guardians, few of you have seen combat before. Stay out of the fray and support us with your weapon platforms. Take up position near the wraithlord. Dark Reapers, I expect you all to do the same. Howling Banshees. Stay with the Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine. Swooping Hawks, your top priority is vehicles. When they have been destroyed, overwhelm the innermost ranks of the enemy. Give them no quarter.

"The Fire Dragon squads will accompany the Howling Banshees and rain destruction on our foes. Warp Spiders, that is when we will jump into the thick of the assault. Our sudden appearance will take the Slaaneshi by surprise and give us an opening. All assaulting units will need to use this opportunity to their advantage. Rangers, I give you my permission to do what you find most prudent. A Harlequin troupe has joined us for this fight. They will work independently, so do _not_ interfere. Dire Avengers, I turn your command over to the Farseer. Follow his orders and draw fire from the Warlocks.

"Is there one here among us who does not understand the battle strategy?"

No Eldar raised a voice.

"Then onward!" cried the Autarch, drawing his chainsword. "For Xerim!"

"FOR XERIM!" echoed the warhost.

And with that, they charged into the gate.

The wraithlord fired the first rounds from its bright lance and starcannon to the shock and anger of the Chaos forces. The Avatar roared savagely and charged into the valley in which the enemy awaited, Fire Dragons and Howling Banshees in tow. Bright lances, missile launchers, Swooping Hawk grenades, and spells devastated the army opposing Xerim.  
Freyan led two of his Rangers to a well-concealed vantage point. He looked through the sight of his long rifle at the raging battle. The Swooping Hawks were doing their work just as his father had requested. It was difficult, but not impossible, to line up his shots. He took calm, deep breaths. A helmet appeared in his sights. He took his chance and fired in a split second. There was no hesitation. There was no pity. There was no joy. There was only the kill.

Remil waited impatiently with Autarch Forgeblade and the other Warp Spiders. There were at least thirty of them, all told. Remil was tired of watching. He wanted to fight. His heart pounded against its cage, trying to break free of his chest. Soon. Soon. He wanted to fly like the Hawks, scream like the Banshees, jump like the Spiders, repay in blood the deaths of the Murdered Parthenon like the Avengers, stalk like the Scorpion. He wanted to fight. It seemed he was waiting for an eternity for the first assault force to arrive with the Bloody-Handed Avatar. The Autarch gave a signal, and as one the Aspect Warriors initiated the Warp jump. Remil momentarily lost his entire sense of self in the Warp before re-emerging safely in the thick of the assault.

His death spinner fired in more directions than he knew he was shooting and he heard the beautiful screams of the humans as powerblades and chainswords and triskeles and shuriken tore through armor and flesh. He admired a Harlequin administering her Kiss to a hapless Slaanesh-worshipper and watched her bound toward the next target as the monofilament wire recoiled into her wrist-mounted weapon. Blood was everywhere. He shoved one of the traitorous Astartes to the ground and placed the end of his death spinner against its helmet. He took pride in the kill. He was lost to the bloodlust. Had he finally become an Exarch? No. He still yearned to fly, stalk, scream, and avenge. He had never felt this way before.

The Autarch decapitated a victim with his chainsword while firing his Reaper launcher at a group of Slaaneshi. His mandiblasters stung another target, allowing a Banshee's triskele to cut through its torso. Autarch Forgeblade ripped off its helmet and stomped on its head, which became a mass of flesh and putty. He did not see the villain behind him, preparing its chainaxe. Remil roared and rushed to the aid of the Autarch, using a Warp jump to close the distance quickly. However, he could not stop the fiend from wounding his commander. Forgeblade dropped his chainsword and clutched his injured shoulder as Remil disarmed the brute and used its weapon against it.

Several warriors around the Autarch surrounded him in defense. He bellowed that it was only a scratch and taunted the enemy, laughing as the bedlam continued to unfold.

Bodies burned. Blood painted the dry, cracked dirt. Worshippers of Chaos cowered in fear before the Howling Banshees. Entrails were thrown in all directions. The Avatar stomped and slashed all who opposed it.

Remil grinned daemonically and beckoned for more followers of the Great Enemy to join their comrades in death.

The Dire Avengers protected the Farseer and the Warlocks as they cast their spells, slowly advancing upon the servants of She Who Thirsts. Ulsan shocked his foes with lightning, burned them with flame, and destroyed their weak minds with his superior psychic power. Then he found one stronger-willed than the rest. He touched Anchros' arm, hoping the boy would understand to follow him. He ordered the Dire Avengers to keep the rest of the Warlocks safe while he sought out the commander. He indeed found the hulking human, his twin chainaxes spinning with eager anticipation to bite into both the Farseer and his student. Ulsan drew his witchblades and activated them.

The Slaaneshi officer laughed with scorn, his helmetless, disfigured face contorted into a contemptuous sneer. "Finally, a worthy challenge!" Several Striking Scorpions lay dead at his feet. He ordered his men to "leave him with these two curs." They formed a wide circle around the three. "What is your name?" he demanded of Ulsan. "I feel I owe it to my victims that I know what they were called."

Ulsan replied, "I am Ulsan Starborn, Farseer of Xerim. I foresaw your attack on the Eldar craftworld of Iyanden and intervened… will intervene… accordingly. Today, you shall die." He entered a fighting stance.

"I am Rhame the Defiled, leader of this Legion of the Unholy Slaanesh. I am enemy to Eldar, Khorne, and the False Emperor. Today, _you_ shall die!" Rhame cackled wildly without humor. "Give me none of your magic, Seer, and leave your follower out of this duel! We will fight in single combat, you with your swords and I with my axes."

"I trust not the word of a Slaaneshi!" Ulsan charged toward the Defiled, bringing his right witchblade up. As Rhame moved his axes to block the attack, Ulsan darted to the left and thrust both of his witchblades at Rhame's body. With unnatural speed for a human, Rhame parried the blow and smiled.

Ulsan imagined he was looking into the face of the Great Enemy itself. "I trust not the word of an Eldar."

They attacked each other ferociously. Each time Ulsan believed he was going to hit Rhame, the Chaos commander dodged or countered. He could predict his opponent's movements, but his future sight was clouded. Ulsan saw Anchros watching the duel intently; he was clearly hoping to learn from his master. Blow for blow, Ulsan was evenly matched with Rhame. Each combatant took five steps away from his opponent and circled him. How would Ulsan defeat Rhame? He would need to use his psychic powers.

Things happened very quickly after they began to circle each other. Anchros watched with interest, seeing how his master dueled with this disgusting human who served Slaanesh. The Farseer deactivated his witchblades, sheathed them, and released the ability known as Eldritch Storm upon Rhame the Defiled. Rhame simply laughed as he absorbed the crackling lightning. He then directed it back at Master Starborn and rushed with his chainaxes. Anchros didn't exactly see what happened directly after that, but before he realized it one of Rhame's weapons had penetrated the Farseer's helmet. "Slaanesh protects me from your refined Warp energies. Slaanesh protected me throughout this battle by using the Warp as a cloak for me." He laughed once more and withdrew his axe from the Farseer's head. He looked at Anchros. "Do you have a death wish as well?" Rhame took a few steps away and turned around. "You cannot save him, but it will amuse me if you try."

Anchros bolted to the side of his master. He removed the Farseer's helmet and looked at his face. There was a deep fissure in the top of his head. "Anchros…" he said weakly.

"Don't speak, Master."

"No, no… no, Anchros. This is important. This is… the event about which… I warned… I am warning… I will warn… you. Fixed… fixed in time."

"Master, please don't leave!"

The Farseer smiled. "Leave? I won't leave you, Anchros. I will always… be… here…" With waning strength, Anchros' master touched his waystone. Its blue color became even brighter as Ulsan Starborn died.

Anchros could hardly believe it. His thoughts were racing so quickly yet he was still able to process them. He saw the past. He saw the present. He saw the future. Most importantly of all, he could see the events that led to this moment, this moment when his master died. He knew his importance in it.

Anchros grasped the hilts of his fallen mentor's witchblades. He activated them. He felt suddenly empowered. The Farseer's spirit stone rose from his armor and floated in front of Anchros. He closed his eyes. Yes. Fixed in time. The wratihbone of his helmet created a small recess for the gem, where it came to rest. Anchros felt the psychic energies around him stretch and become distorted. He used the rune in his body to draw upon this distortion. He felt no heat.

With a primal scream, Anchros unleashed Asuryan's Retribution and chased it to Rhame the Defiled. He plunged the witchblades into the Slaaneshi's torso, piercing armor and flesh through to his stomach.

"H… How…? What…" These were the only words Rhame the Defiled could manage to choke out of his throat.

"My name… was… will be… _is_… Anchros Stormsinger. I am the Farseer of Xerim. You killed my master.

"Today, you shall die."


	3. Xerim Prevails

Anchros removed his witchblades from Rhame the Defiled and let his opponent fall. His mind sailed along the various possible futures of the battle; some ended in Xerim's victory. Some showed him a necessary retreat of Xerim's forces. He incinerated a group of charging Astartes with a fireball. The voice of his master echoed. _Anchros_, it said.

_Master?_ He thought this as he fought his way through the Slaaneshi horde to his Warlock comrades. Far across the battlefield, he guided the aim of a Ranger and diverted the path of a grenade from a squad of Striking Scorpions. _Master, what is this? My body is here, yet my consciousness is present in several places at once._

_That is the greatest ability of a Farseer_, assured the spirit of Ulsan Starborn. _I know this is somewhat disorienting for you, but we can help. We will all help you become accustomed to your new role as Xerim's Farseer_.

Anchros felt the ebb and flow of psychic energy around him as the numbers of Chaos dwindled. Their presences in the Warp were like contorted, swirling maelstroms. He understood how he had defeated Rhame; Asuryan's Retribution negated the protection provided to him by Slaanesh, allowing Anchros to kill him. He found his Warlocks once again and joined them in their struggle. They would learn in due time. Anchros invaded the corrupt mind of a Slaaneshi and destroyed it with the power of his own. In another region of the dark valley, his friend Remil Iyegar was influenced to turn around and shoot a Slaaneshi with his death spinner. The Autarch was brought safely through the Warp during a jump. Neither suspected the occurrences to be Anchros' doing.

"THEY ARE NEARLY DEFEATED! GIVE NO QUARTER!" shouted Autarch Forgeblade.

There were comparatively few living Slaaneshi still alive and fighting. Remil numbered them at two hundred – they were little more than fodder.

Without warning a surge of bloodlust raged through Remil. He couldn't form any rational thought. It was as though he had lost control of his body and was trapped inside, forced to watch the destruction he caused. He wasn't sure how to react when he felt himself remove the sighting link from his death spinner, casting it aside in favor of a Fire Dragon's fusion gun. Remil fired the searing stream of plasma into the thick of the Slaaneshi, cackling madly. A small part of him wondered, _What's happening? Why am I doing this?_ It was overpowered by an even greater desire to watch the servants of the Great Enemy burn. He performed Warp jump after Warp jump successfully, decimating the ranks of She Who Thirsts.

Remil recognized other Eldar around him while the humans writhed in agony, their armor useless against his assault. They all seemed confused and horrified, even in their war trance. He felt himself become farther removed from reality with each passing moment, losing his identity as sometimes happened within the Warp. The warrior found no more Slaaneshi to be slain and came to stand in front of the Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine.

It seemed to be contemplating him and the metamorphosis he had just undergone. It _knew_ what was happening to him. It could _feel_ him on the Path of the Warrior. The Warp Spider dared to look into its molten orange eyes. Images flashed through his head. The Avatar knew what this one could be; it knew his capabilities. And it shared this knowledge with him so that he might know as well.

Remil felt a prickling sensation in his skull and a burning in his heart. The Avatar roared. A challenge. As he prepared to attack the embodiment of the Bloody-Handed God, he felt himself stopped by an outside force.

Anchros felt a faint fatigue from the concentration he'd needed to imprison Remil within a field of psychic energy. The Farseers within his waystone had guided him, as Master Starborn promised. It was easier to subdue his mind while he was immobile. Anchros probed Remil's psyche in hope of finding an explanation for this madness.

_I have seen this many a time before_, said the spirit of a long-dead Farseer.

_As have I. Many of us have seen this_, input another.

Anchros asked them, _What is happening to my friend?_

_The boy is becoming an Autarch. We can feel it. See how he grasps the subtlety of multiple Aspects?_

_Had he not discarded his death spinner, we would suspect this "Remil" of being an Exarch._

_Alas, he took for himself the weapon of a different Aspect. He is most assuredly prepared to be Autarch._

_And not a moment too soon. Follow the veins of the future, Anchros._ Anchros recognized this last voice as that of his dead mentor. _You will see that this is another point fixed in time, as was your transformation into Farseer._

Anchros heeded his master's words and allowed himself to slip forward in time with his predecessors guarding his mind, ensuring he would not become lost. _Yes, I see it…_ Orwen Forgeblade would die of the wound he'd sustained here on Gorm, slowly and painfully. At the same time, Anchros saw the other possible ways for the Autarch to have met his end on this planet. No matter which path time took, Autarch Forgeblade died as a result of the Battle of Gorm, and Remil Iyegar emerged as Xerim's supreme commander. _You have come far, my friend_. Anchros asked two nearby Striking Scorpions to carry Remil.

The Autarch called a return to Xerim. He walked beside Anchros as they followed their army home. "So. Ulsan died. I am sorry I do not recognize you in your armor. It must have changed when you became Farseer."

"I am Anchros Stormsinger, Autarch. I know your children well."

"Ah. The Stormsinger." Autarch Forgeblade winced visibly, a twitch originating from his shoulder. That was where he had been wounded. "To the Warp with these forsaken souls. One of them managed to cut through my armor. However, it is but a scratch."

Anchros frowned. "Autarch… there is something you must know."

"Is this about Remil? I saw what happened. Perhaps I shall begin to groom him as Ulsan did you."

Anchros hesitated. "Remil is indeed becoming an Autarch, but…"

"Oh, no." The commander's voice shook very slightly. "Ulsan was… troubled over something of which he'd had a vision. Did he… he saw his own death. As well as mine. Am I correct to assume this?"

"Yes. There is no other way for me to say it."

They had reached the portal that would take them back to Xerim. Anchros knew he would have to guide the warhost through the webway. They paused, and the Autarch was silent.

"I fear not death," he said without emotion. They then entered the swirling vortex to go back to the craftworld.

Freyan sat next to his father's bed. He had no other pressing matters to which he needed to attend. Orwen's wound had festered, and he had taken sick. Not even Xerim's finest healers could aid him. It reminded Freyan of a time when one of his brothers had lost a leg. They'd had no choice but to leave him on a human world. He felt no remorse. This brother would only have slowed the rest down.

Ysalia walked into the room. "Is he better?"

"No," Freyan said without looking at her. He was fixed on his father's pale face. "You can recall as well as I can that Farseer Stormsinger said he would not survive."

"There's no need to call Anchros by his title. You are his friend." She stood next to their father and caressed his face lovingly.

"I am one of his soldiers. He deserves my respect."

"Freyan, Remil won't ask you to –"  
"I am satisfied to give my superiors their due subordination. I am no longer an Outcast. I am a Ranger of Xerim. I follow the orders of my leaders."

Sitting opposite Freyan on the other side of Orwen, she asked, "And if they order you to call them by their given names?"

"Then I will gladly heed their order." They sat together in silence. Freyan thought of his mother. How would she feel about this had she survived birthing him? It didn't matter. He'd learned long ago not to chase his mother when he knew he would not find her.

Suddenly, their father spoke. His words were dry and barely audible. Freyan leaned closer. Ysalia said, "Father, don't speak –"

"No." The word was strangely weak coming from the mouth of Orwen Forgeblade, Autarch of Xerim.

Freyan leaned toward his father a little bit further. "What do you need, Father?"

"Remil. Get…" Orwen was attacked by a fit of coughing. "Get me… Remil…"

"He is coming, Father," assured Ysalia.

"No. I am here."

Remil followed Anchros into the chamber of the dying Autarch. Anchros carried an empty waystone. They walked to Orwen Forgeblade's bedside. "Are you in pain, Autarch?" asked Anchros.

"I… will _not_… perish before I… speak to Remil." The Autarch sat up in his bed laboriously. Ysalia attempted to keep him on his back, but Freyan stopped her. "Remil."

He stepped forward. "Yes, Autarch?"

"I spent… my entire life… in service to Xerim. And now… I have died in service to it. I want you… to realize… the craftworld is always first. Always."

"Yes, Autarch."

"The interests of Xerim must take priority over your own. I have no doubt you will adhere to this code."

"I swear it, Autarch."

"Good." The Autarch once again coughed uncontrollably.

"You do not have much time left, Autarch," stated Anchros.

"Please, Stormsinger… end my pain."

Anchros placed the waystone in the Autarch's lap and closed his eyes. The scar on his face stood out against his features. He'd told Remil of how he'd received it. Farseer Starborn fused the rune for Asuryan's Retribution to his body.

"Remember," said the Autarch. "I entrust Xerim to you now."

"I know," replied Remil.

The waystone levitated under Anchros' spell. It touched the Autarch's forehead, and light began to flow into it. Orwen Forgeblade finally looked at peace. When it was finished, his body slackened and fell onto his back. It was now a spirit stone to be placed in the infinity circuit. Remil held out his hand to receive it. Anchros handed the stone to him.

_I will not disappoint you, Autarch_.

_You are doing well as Farseer, Anchros._ The voice in his head was unfamiliar.

_Who are you?_

_You know me best as the Founder._

_The Founder? By the gods…_

_Yes, Anchros. I wish to reveal my name to you. But you must keep it a secret, as it has been for long ages._

Anchros had expected this would occur, but he hadn't expected it this soon. _I will._

_My name is Tharin Stormsinger. You are of my bloodline. You are the first Stormsinger to walk the Path of the Seer since me._

_An honor I will wear proudly, Founder._

_Good. Now, Xerim awaits._

"Xerim awaits…" he whispered.

"Pardon?" Remil stood beside him, dressed in his armor but helmetless, as was Anchros.

"Xerim awaits, Remil. Let us not waste more time."

They opened the doorway to the tower balcony. Below them, the entire craftworld was assembled.

"Xerim!" began Anchros.

"The Battle of Gorm was a victory for us, but we paid a terrible price. We lost both our Farseer and our Autarch, Ulsan Starborn and Orwen Forgeblade. However, we cannot mourn them. Mourning was not their way. Their way was Xerim's way. And we shall honor them by adhering to Xerim's way. They would want us all to move forward and remember them as they were in life. We must take off our mourning, my people. We must continue the work of our beloved leaders.

"I swear to you now, Xerim! Autarch Iyegar and I shall lead you in this time of need, and we shall lead you for a great time hence!"

Remil stepped forward, drawing his chainsword and holding it triumphantly aloft. "I declare this a new beginning for Xerim! We will show the galaxy that _XERIM SURVIVES!_"

The craftworld erupted in joy.

"_**XERIM PREVAILS!**_"


End file.
